The Adventures of Jean-Paul Travert, Dish
by CallMeOutis
Summary: Jean-Paul Travert is a dish. These are his adventures.
1. Prologue

Jean-Paul lived in the cupboard beside the tea set.

He was always near the bottom of the stack, and he preferred it that way, because it meant he never had to get up to let anyone else out. The other dishes did not see it that way, and fancied that his low position in society permitted them to look down on him, and they did. But Jean-Paul didn't mind. He was fine with the way things were.

It was the others who were unhappy. Oh, how Old Jaques complained about the way his poor old bones would weary from the effort of rolling across the dining room. Louise would say that they hadn't any bones, as they were the fine porcelain the Master only used to impress important guests, and not any common lowly bone china, like the bourgeois trash that was always making a ruckus in the larder. Poor unhappy Claudette would pledge her agreement, and poor unhappy Louise would think that this was proof that she spoke the truth.

To be fair, Louise had more than enough reason to be unhappy, least of all being that she was very lovely. Oh, it was a terrible thing to be beautiful, Louise was always saying. How terrible it was that her surface shown the brightest in candlelight, her color was the softest and most vivid, and the gentle chime she made when you struck her with a fork was clearest music, because it made everyone else terribly jealous.

"Count yourself lucky, dear Claudette, that you are so homely."

Claudette would sigh and say, "Poor dear Louise, you are far too generous."

Young Jaques would then say, "Yes, yes, far too generous," and would imagine that if he said it a certain number of innumerable times, Louise would eventually fall hopelessly in love with him. For some reason that Jean-Paul could not quite guess, Young Jaques loved Louise, and indeed, his love was quite hopeless. Though to be fair, it was at least a simple thing to understand. It would have been very hard not to be in love with Louise, in fact, had she not been so determinedly unpleasant.

All the while, Frederique would lie on the very bottom of the shelf beneath Jean-Paul, seldom saying a word or even leaving the cupboard. Jean-Paul liked Frederique. He liked that she was very easy to ignore, which is what he did, most of the time, and that sometimes, when the others were sleeping and Jean-Paul was pretending to sleep, she would sing, softly, perhaps to herself, and the songs were always beautiful and unhappy, even more beautiful and unhappy than Louise could ever hope to be.


	2. Jean-Paul Travert, Dishwasher

Jean-Paul had not been born a dish.

Thankfully, he had been born an orphan, so he was guaranteed to have many great adventures in his lifetime. For example, he spent a great deal of his boyhood in a magnificent castle. He also spent a great deal of his boyhood washing magnificent dishes, though he had spent a great deal of effort to arrive at this position. On his first day as a dishwasher, Jean-Paul did not wash dishes, but pots. Jean-Paul was a natural at scrubbing, washing, soaping, and especially rinsing.

"He had a special certain genius for the rinsing," Old Jaques would say. "In sixty years, I've seen none better."

He was so good, in fact, that after only two months scrubbing pots he was promoted to saucers. The kitchen staff were amazed by his finesse and skill, by the ease with which he made each dish clean again, absolutely perfectly perfect every time. After two more months on the saucers, he was promoted again, and allowed to polish the silver. Despite themselves, they could not help but look up from the potatoes that needed peeling or the meat that needed mincing or the work that needed pretending to be done and steal a glance over to the washbasin, just to see Jean-Paul make even the plainest bone china sparkle like something touched by fairies.

"You know, I'd bet my last good tooth that he's the best there ever was," Old Jaques would say.

"Of course he is," Louise would say. "He's in my kitchen, isn't he?" Claudette would not be quite sure what Louise meant by this, but all the same, she would bob her head up and down so that she looked even more like a broken carousel horse than usual.

Young Jaques would voice his agreement through clenched jaws. Then, he'd go back to chopping the carrots rather more vigorously than was strictly necessary, all the while glaring at Jean-Paul in what was only the best way he could manage, the poor thing.

Yes, the whole kitchen staff all watched him working soapy magic at the washbasin, except for the scullery maid, who unfortunately, was a woefully mediocre floor scrubber. Her name was Frederique, and Jean-Paul liked her, because she was easy to ignore, and because she never looked at him. He didn't know it yet, but she sang herself to sleep on all the loneliest nights, which is to say, every night.

But then, after years of dedicated hard work and not a single broken dish, Jean-Paul was finally to be granted the highest honor it is possible to bestow upon any dishwasher. He was to be entrusted with washing the finest fine china in the castle.

It was quite a momentous occasion. There were many handshakes and speeches and words of congratulations, although for some reason, many of these were directed at Louise instead of Jean-Paul. She accepted her accolades with perfect aplomb. Jean-Paul did not mind, though, because he had the serene and detached sort of bearing a man develops when he sure that is making history.

And indeed, history was about to be made. There had not been a dishwasher of high enough rank to handle the finest fine china for ten long years, when Mad Martine had gone down to the wine cellar and was never seen or heard from again. Without a properly trained dishwasher, of course, it was impossible to use the finest fine china, and for years, the castle had suffered, unable to impress house guests and forced to turn them away out of shame.

But on that night, they felt no shame, because the dark times would be over at last. The kitchen staff waited in mostly dignified silence as he carried the dishes over to the washbasin. They were of the finest porcelain, almost glowing from within in the soft lamplight, and they were rimmed with real gold. "The Master is sure to see that we're rewarded for this," whispered Louise. The others agreed. Frederique scrubbed silently in the corner.

Jean-Paul held the first dish up to the light like a preist saying the blessing over the host, and there were oohs and ahs aplenty. "My friends," said Old Jaques, "we have much to be proud of on this night." His rheumatic chest swelled, and he almost stood up straight. "We've made the youngest Master Dishwasher the world has ever known."

But Jean-Paul did not care about what the others were saying. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the dish into the washbasin. Then, suddenly, he was in the washbasin. He sank slowly to the very bottom and landed with a delicate thud. Jean-Paul was a dish. "Oh, dear," thought Jean-Paul. "It appears that I shall have to have an adventure."


	3. Jean-Paul Travert, Flying Saucer

Jean-Paul was not very good at being a dish.

It was no surprise, though, because it was dreadfully tricky, being a dish.

This was chiefly due to the fact that the only way to get around was by rolling along on one's rim, which was in itself a perilous endeavor, seeing as how the gold leaf trim was precariously slippery. Being made of porcelain was terribly dangerous as well. Most of the dishes developed a natural suspicion of all hard surfaces, and spared no opportunity to shoot them dirty looks and make up nasty rumors about them.

There was a particularly nasty rumor that one of the teacups had smashed himself to bits by falling out of his cupboard, but there wasn't any truth to it. It was merely one of the stories Old Jaques would tell the others on stormy nights, just to make them rattle on their cozy shelf like bouncing hailstones on the roof, grateful to be alive, even if only on a technicality.

But even if there was no shattered teacup, there were a number of wickedly close calls, especially during those shaky first few weeks of trial and error. The worst of these had been on Jean-Paul's very first day as a dish, right after the doorman (who had become a coatrack) had fished him out of the washbasin. The doorman had been on his way to the kitchen to sneak a pastry from the larder, but had you asked him about it then, he would have said that he had merely come to inquire about the forecast for the following morning, since Old Jaques's aching bones could predict the weather better than any barometer.

"What do you think you're playing at, being a coatrack?" said Louise indignantly.

"Quite right!" offered Claudette. "It's very poor manners, going around and being a coatrack!"

"I daresay you mean to insult the young lady!" said Young Jaques, and by "young lady," Jean-Paul supposed he meant Louise. "I can't abide by that! En garde, sir! En garde!" He wobbled helplessly on the counter, determined to defend his lady's honor, too foolish to realize that she hadn't any to begin with.

Old Jaques cackled and shouted various taunts at Young Jaques, who was growing angrier by the minute. Jean-Paul could have sworn he saw the poor thing's porcelain face grow red with indignation, but perhaps it was only a trick of the light.

The doorman assured the sputtering Young Jaques that he meant nothing ill by it, and that would you believe it, he had not the faintest idea of how he had become a coatrack in the first place, and besides, who were they to talk, being dishes and all that.

Frederique was silent, waiting, and Jean-Paul was grateful to have something to ignore.

Eager to keep the situation from escalating any further, Jean-Paul thanked the coatrack for his trouble. He then explained that he would be very much obliged if he were to be placed upon the dining room table, in that he might gain some valuable experience that would aid him in growing accustomed to his new line of work. The coatrack was happy to comply, and Jean-Paul spent his first few hours as a dish sitting (or perhaps lying - he wasn't quite sure) on the dining room table.

It was terribly uncomfortable to stay perfectly still for so long, and Jean-Paul found that he couldn't even relieve the monotony by fidgeting, for he no longer had any limbs. Jean-Paul was beginning to sorely miss them.

"I suppose I never used my legs very much, standing about in one place next to the washbasin all day," he said to himself. "They might have been wasted on me, so I haven't really got the right to complain about missing them now. Still - my hands! How soft they were, after years of soaking in the finest dish soap, and how quick and graceful they were when holding a brush! Why, I shall never be able to wash a dish again!" he cried out in despair.

But Jean-Paul discovered that the last of his cries were drowned out by a fearsome roar coming from someplace down the corridor. It made even the crystals that dangled from the chandeliers above quiver as if they were frightened - and indeed, they probably were. Jean-Paul grew frightened, too, and tried to make a run for it, but alas, he was nothing but a dish.

A terrible beast came rampaging through the dining room, clutching its hideous face with huge gnarled claws. With just one sweep of its mighty arm, it overturned the dining room table.

The world tumbled beneath Jean-Paul, and he tumbled above it. As he soared through the air, he thought, _What I shameful end I have come to. Now I shall never know what happens at the end of my adventure._

The beast continued its rampage, howling as if in great pain, smashing the an antique cabinet with a mirrored backboard.

_And what of the others? They'll be so ashamed. They shall have to belong to an incomplete set of dishes._

The beast tore down the corridor, its roars of agony echoing off the cavernous walls of the palace. Jean-Paul continued to spin through space.

_What shall they do with my pieces, I wonder? Am I to be buried in the cemetery up on the hill? Will they use a whole burial plot, or only a portion, I wonder? Oh, I hope they do not throw me in the rubbish bin, even though I am only a dish!_

Jean-Paul knew he was nearing the end of his fall, and he was beginning to grow dizzy from the spinning. For some reason, he found himself thinking of Frederique, and how much he loved ignoring her. He wished he had thought to thank her for it, but now, it would be too late. He would have closed his eyes if he had still had any, and braced himself for a crash.

To his surprise, however, Jean-Paul landed with a comfortable _flop_ upon something soft and friendly. For a moment, he thought that perhaps he had died and that heaven was made of velvet, but then he realized that he was still a dish. Not even God could be that cruel, he reasoned.

He had been saved by luck (which, being an orphan, he never had in short supply) as well as by the Master's dog. The poor thing had been lurking in the corner of the dining room, sulking, because he had not been able to finish his dinner due to suddenly becoming a footstool, and also because his master was in a fouler mood than usual.

"Oh, good boy! What a good, good dog!" cried Jean-Paul. "Now, back to the kitchen! Hi ho!" And off they trotted together, a knight upon his faithful steed.


	4. Jean-Paul Travert, Ignored

Jean-Paul was rather enjoying his ride to the kitchen.

He had never noticed how lovely the wallpaper above the floor moulding was, and now, he was at the perfect height to enjoy it. The Master's dog, on his part, only strayed from the path once or twice, stopping every so often to sniff a suspicious bit of dust in the corner.

When they arrived safely at their destination, Jean-Paul was almost sorry that the journey was over so soon. But, he reasoned, it was his duty as the newly appointed Former-Master Dishwasher to warn the kitchen staff of the immanent danger tearing down the corridors.

He couldn't see them clearly from the back of the Master's dog, but he could hear them quite plainly. Indeed, they were making quite a racket, bickering about some bit of nonsense up on the kitchen counter. "Ahoy there!" Jean-Paul shouted. "I've just returned from the dining room."

"Oh, have you now?" said Louise. "What were you up to in there?"

"I bet the boy was trying to shirk," whispered Old Jaques, loud enough for everyone to hear. "See how he repays us for promoting him?"

"What a shame," said Claudette. "To think that he's a shirker, after all we've done for him."

"A right shame, indeed," added Young Jaques. "Ungrateful, is what it is."

"Defeats the whole purpose of having a Master Dishwasher in the first place!" said Old Jaques. "Don't you know that that's the way it works?"

"I... I don't really know what you mean," said Jean-Paul.

"I wouldn't expect you to," scoffed Louise.

"But there's something important I have to tell you!" said Jean-Paul. "Something I saw in the dining room!"

"And what do you suppose we were doing while you were loafing in the dining room, shirking, no doubt? We were forming a committee to find a workable solution to this whole affair of being turned into dishes, and so far, we've done it all without any of your help!"

"Oh," said Jean-Paul, brightening. "Then you've figured out how to make us all human again?"

Louise, for once, said nothing. If Jean-Paul could have seen her face, he would have seen it contort in impotent rage, in that peculiar special way that can only really be done properly by someone who is wrong and doesn't know any better. But alas, Louise no longer had any face, and Jean-Paul would not have been able to see it anyway, as he was still riding on the back of the Master's footstool.

"You can't expect so much of her so quickly," said Young Jaques hastily. "After all, if you rush these things, you'll only do a sloppy job of it, and then where will we be? Just half done! We'd end up as people made out of porcelain, that's what!"

"Oh, how dreadful," said Claudette, and would have shuddered if she could, but made do with rattling a bit on the surface of the counter.

"You'd have us go off all half-cocked and turn into knickknacks fit for a figurine cabinet," said Young Jaques. "Or maybe we'd even end up as people the size of dishes! We couldn't have that, now, could we?"

"Of course not," snapped Louise. "You are so selfish, Jean-Paul, if you think I'd stay the size of a dish forever just to please you!"

"I do believe the promotion has gone to his head," whispered Old Jaques, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Oh, dear!" said Claudette. "Do you really think so?"

"Of course it has," said Louise. "After all, didn't he just admit that he doesn't know how a promotion works?"

"I thought a promotion was what happens when you get to do more work for the same amount of pay," said Claudette.

"Well, yes, but that's only _part _of it," said Louise. "But if you go about thinking you'll get a promotion just because you deserve one, you'll never get anywhere in life! You see, you have to remember that the dishwasher is always the second-lowest position in the kitchen. If we ever needed to give him a higher position, then, all of us would get higher positions, too, by default. After all, we can't be subordinate to a mere dishwasher, even if he is the greatest one the world has ever known."

"Oh, Louise, you are so wise!" said Claudette.

"Oh, yes, quite wise!" added Young Jaques. Old Jaques cackled and wheezed, and Frederique was busy being very good at being ignored.

"Oh," said Jean-Paul sheepishly. "I hadn't realized."

Suddenly, the Master's dog gave a few brisk barks, as if to remind Jean-Paul of his sworn duty. "Wait!" he said. "I've still not told you of what I saw in the dining room!"

"Go on, then!" said Louise. "It isn't good manners to dawdle, you know."

"Just like I said," Old Jaques whispered loudly. "Shirking."

"I saw a terrible beast in the Master's clothes!" cried Jean-Paul.

"What? What on earth were you doing in the Master's clothes?" said Louise.

"Goodness," said Young Jaques. "How absurd, a dishwasher dressed up in the Master's fine clothes!"

"Oh, dear!" said Claudette. "You'll be in terrible trouble if he ever finds out that you took them!"

"A shirker _and_ a thief!" said Old Jaques, not whispering.

There was a terrible racket again, and the dishes went back to their bickering.

"I think what Jean-Paul _means,"_ said Frederique, taking a break from her usually flawless endeavor to be ignored, "is that he saw a beast that was wearing the Master's clothes."

A brief moment of stunned silence descended upon the kitchen, although it is impossible to be sure whether it had come down because the dishes had been informed that there was a beast loose in the dining room or merely due to the shocking reality that Frederique had actually spoken.

The first to break the silence was Louise.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she said. "There's no such thing as beasts and monsters."

"A shirker _and_ a thief _and_ a liar!" cackled Old Jaques.

"Besides, what would a beast want with the Master's clothes, anyway?" continued Louise.

"What if the beast ate the Master, and stole his clothes?" said Claudette.

"The _is_ no beast," said Young Jaques. "Louise said so."

"Oh," said Claudette, and would have blushed if she could have. "Forgive me, Young Jaques, for my foolishness."

"Count yourself lucky, dear Claudette, that you are so foolish. If you weren't, you'd try to be cleverer than us like Jean-Paul, and try to trick us."

Claudette sighed, and said, "Poor dear Louise, you are far too generous."

Jean-Paul thought he heard Frederique stifle what sounded like a giggle, but he ignored it.


	5. Jean-Paul Travert, Listening Politely

Jean-Paul was getting used to being a dish.

The first night had certainly not been very pleasant, and neither were the subsequent years to follow, but given enough time, anything at all can become so routine as to be perfectly and totally dull. This sort of rendering of the fantastic into something mundane was a particular talent of Mr. Cogsworth, and one he would certainly have particularly prided himself on, had he known himself to possess it.

The first morning after the casting of the curse, Mr. Cogsworth gathered them all together in the great hall. It was quite a sight, to see feather dusters swaying about on gowns of lovely plumage and cumbersome wardrobes lumbering about as the little teacups scurried beneath them, herded along by a stern and loving teapot hopping along beside them. They were all conversing amongst themselves, and every conversation had the same cadence of fear, disbelief, and ardent curiosity. The murmurs of the animate objects echoed through the cavernous hall.

"Settle down, everyone, settle, settle down!" said Mr. Cogsworth. He had climbed up on top of a friendly tea trolley in order to address the crowd, as he had recently become a mantle clock.

"Mr. Cogsworth looks quite a bit shorter than usual," whispered Old Jaques, "but not by much."

The other dishes, except for Jean-Paul and Frederique, gave a hearty chuckle.

"I bet this is somehow _his_ fault," said Louise. "After all, he's supposed to be in charge of things. Rather careless of him, to let something like _this_ go and happen!"

"I do believe you're right, Louise!" said Young Jaques. "I say, I'd like an explanation for all this!" he cried.

"If you'll all settle down for a moment," said Mr. Cogsworth, "I'm sure this whole mess can be properly explained - er, excuse me -"

"Yes, yes!" said Claudette. "I'd like an explanation, too!"

The cries became louder and more numerous, and they were all addressed to Mr. Cogsworth. "If you'll only, for a _moment -"_ he was saying, growing flustered and very much put out.

Suddenly, one of the candlesticks whistled loudly in a way that would have used two of his fingers if he had still had them, but instead used the edge of one of the arms of a candelabrum, which rendered the whole thing into an action that is considerably harder to describe. All the same, it made the great hall fall silent at last.

The whistling candlestick was none other than Monsieur Lumiere, who had somehow made his way onto the tea trolley next to Mr. Cogsworth when no one was looking (which was quite an impressive feat, as no one could remember having looked away.)

"Now now, everyone!" said M. Lumiere. "Let us not lose our heads!"

"Hear, hear!" cried another candlestick, struggling to keep his mishappen, waxen face from falling off of his candelabrum.

"Cogsworth and myself are here to answer any and all of your questions! Listen first, if you please!"

"Hmm. Yes," muttered Mr. Cogsworth. He cleared his throat with a few polite _ahems,_ then addressed his audience. _"I_ am certainly here to answer any and all of your questions," he said, with a sidelong glare at M. Lumiere. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, let's see -"

"Where's the Master?" squeaked a fork.

"Pipe down!" snapped Mr. Cogsworth.

"But I can't see from down there!" whined a calabash pipe from up on the shelf.

"Not you!" said Mr. Cogsworth. "The fork!"

"But I already _am_ down!" said the fork.

"Don't give me that cheek!" said Mr. Cogsworth.

"But I haven't got cheeks anymore!" wailed the fork. "Oh, dear, where have my lovely cheeks gone?"

"Well, I can explain it all to you very simply if you pipe do - I mean, if you remain silent and don't interrupt," he said, with a courteous nod to the pipe on the shelf.

The fork sniffled miserably, and Mr. Cogsworth went on, clearing his throat a few more times for good measure.

"The Master is currently in his quarters in the West Wing, where he is _not to be disturbed."_

A disquieting murmur rippled across the hall, though it dared not stay for long should it again incur the wrath of the chubby little mantle clock.

"Through no fault of his own, he was tricked by an unscrupulous enchantress, and placed under her curse, along with the entirety of his household."

"That's not fair!" said a little teacup. "Why should we _all_ be punished?"

"Now, Chip," said the teapot in a voice that was both reproachful and gentle. "Don't interrupt. We all have to wait our turn."

"Yes, Mama," said the teacup.

Mr. Cogsworth went on. "Now, while I am no expert in the matter of curses, I _do _know that it is entirely reversible, and you needn't concern yourselves with remaining in our, um, _present state_ forever."

There came another wave of murmurs, this time hopeful, though they receded just as quickly.

"The spell can be very easily broken, you see. The matter can be quickly and quietly resolved with a simple exchange of personal feelings of a sentimental sort, of course, by which I mean-"

"The Master has got to get a girl to fall in love with him, and fall in love with her in return!" said M. Lumiere. "With that, the spell shall be broken!"

"That's it! We're doomed!" cried a feather duster.

Jean-Paul could not help but agree with the feather duster. And indeed, despite the assurances that they would be human again in no time, it was soon apparent to the entire household that the Master had already given up all hope of ever getting a girl to love him.

In the meantime, however, Jean-Paul lived in an enchanted castle, and even though it was really a great deal duller than he would have expected, he thoroughly intended to make the most of it.


End file.
